Down Down Down
by Leeroy's-Lover
Summary: Soulmate AU. Muggle and wizards alike are born with boons and handicaps to help them find their soulmate. The bigger the boon the bigger the handicap. Tom Riddle was born with a full name across his chest. But in the wrong time, colorblind, to a soulmate who doesn't even have markings. Follow them across time and through hardship. Who knew being in love could make you this insane?


"You're mine," He growled, face thunderous. "The sooner you learn that, the better." He held the smaller man by the nape of his wild, black locks. Harry squirmed in discomfort, his face growing hot under the other's gaze.

Tom's eyes scrutinized his captive, appreciating the unease and blush in equal measure. The other's fear permeated the air so… sweetly. Tom inhaled deeply, his pupils dilating at such an exquisite scent.

Tom knew he wasn't normal, never had been. In a world where people had soulmates, few ever found their other half. Most people were born relatively normal, with only a hint as to who their match is. Just like all things in life, no two pairs were the same. Some much weaker than others, some doomed from the start, some to never meet. Some so powerful the very universe handicapped them. The latter precisely what happened to Tom. He was born completely colorblind, divined to live a monotonous life of blacks, whites, and grays. The only upside to his predicament was the beautiful calligraphy of a name across his chest. A full name. Absolutely unheard of among soulmates. No one was born that unlucky.

From the very start; his terrible, muggle birth, the fates marked him a bad omen. His ragged mother, who after naming him Tom Marvolo Riddle barely had enough strength to keep breathing hissed unintelligibly.

"...my baby… my Tom, let me see him." Merope was nearing death, her hands-which had been riddled with tremors for duration of her labor-were now eerily lax. Her lips were parted in a constant pant, half exertion-half from the rattle of death in her old, cold lungs.

The matron didn't want to give the baby over, she had seen the perfect script across his chest already. She knew the life which he was doomed to. For how cold hearted Mrs. Cole was, even she didn't have it in her to break the dying woman in such a way.

She hesitated to let the woman have her way, and Merope must have sensed it. She became incensed.

"Let me see him now!" She croaked low in her throat, her eyes murderous, lucid enough to form a compulsion on the matron.

With weary steps Mrs. Cole bundled him tighter and brought forward the beautiful baby boy.

She handed the baby over to his mother, whose previously unfocused eyes zeroed in on him. Merope Gaunt hummed in contentment, rasping at her prodigy. She inhaled the smell of his hair, tears forming in her eyes. He cooed appropriately, turning his face closer to the little warmth left his mother had to offer. Merope sighed in peace. She noticed a small blemish near her Tom's collar bone. The skin of her cracked lips pulled apart bloodily as she smiled for the first time in what felt like years. With the last of her draining strength she went to brush the speck away. If she had not moved his blanket, she never would have saw the name printed perfectly across his small chest.

A beat of silence.

The most horrible, wretched sound the matron ever heard clawed it's way from the bloodied lips of Merope Gaunt. Mrs. Cole rushed forward to take the baby, who started to cry at the sound coming from his mother.

The sound was inhuman, ripping apart the woman's throat, tears coming in thick streams down her haggard face. The howl of agony lasted through her last breath, leaving Tom Marvolo Riddle's mother a husk of a broken woman. The childbirth would have taken her life, but knowing her son's fate took her spirit. Her crumpled, bloodied body lay in the foyer of the orphanage. The sound of her haunting scream still ringing in the ears of the staff present.

Every time Mrs. Cole looked at the Tom Riddle from then on out, the sound echoed in her ears, and the horrible sight of which he came from haunted her eyes.

From the beginning Tom was extraordinary. He wasn't able to see color, but he still he saw.

Tom himself didn't know the parameters of his condition. Would it take a touch, a kiss, an ungodly act of love for him to see the world in hues of which he only heard of, never saw.

Harry James Potter. He was going to find his Harry James Potter, if it was the last thing he would do.

Down

Down

Down the rabbit hole they went.

In the end, it had taken a touch. A simple, meaningless touch.

Tom hadn't know that this was his. He gripped Harry's wrist tighter, bone bendingly tight. He almost was tempted to shut his eyes at how bright everything around him became.

Greens, blues, reds, violets. They all came crashing through his retinas. Harry's wide eyes froze in shock, at the pain he read upon Tom's face. He pulled his wrist away in a moment of panic, and he took the colors with him.

They didn't all fade at once, like a light switch, but they did lose their potency until once again Tom was surrounded by dreary greys and blacks. He wanted to cry out in frustration.

Harry was his ticket to beauty, and by no means was he going to let him go.

Tom lashed out, grabbing his hand this time, instead of his wrist. He held the other boy reverently, admiring the skin colors of them both.

Tom had never seen the color of his own skin before, and marveled at the differences between him and Harry's. Smooth and creamy beige, against a sun kissed bronze. Tom trailed his eyes up Harry's arm to his exposed throat, to his face. His heart, stopped short, suspended in a moment of beauty at the sight of Harry's eyes.

"What color," Tom rasped, his voice low and lovely "What color... are your eyes?"

The question threw Harry for a loop, he, who was always being told how pretty his green eyes were, never realized that someone wouldn't be able to see them. Someone such as perfect Tom riddle. With his perfect hair, and perfect cheekbones and perfect posture.

"They're ah, Gr-green," Harry stuttered out, meekly. "I suppose" He was embarrassed and could feel a flush creeping up his neck. Bloody hell, he thought.

Tom stood mesmerized, watching as Harry's skin turned from sun kissed to a few shades darker. Tom felt an overwhelming desire to own and ravish. He throat clicked when he swallowed.

He could sense Harry's discomfort, and relished in it. He didn't want to be the only one affected.

"Tell me Harry," He started off slowly, precisely,

"what do you know about... soulmates?"


End file.
